Nostalgia
by Troublesome Dragon
Summary: England's taken reminiscing to a magical degree transforming Alfred into a babe once more. Great, except almost every country's that's ever taken a piece of him keeps finding their way to England's house, and America's not quite the angel he remembered.
1. I miss you

Nostalgia

Alfred's birthday was creeping closer. When England asked him to come over, he didn't question it. Probably, an early present, Arthur liked to keep the exchange private most of the time. Although sometimes, Arthur will direct attention away from it some other way. He remembered the sucker punch quite well, and the picture underneath or rather a miniaturized painting. Of course, he's five then. It's the ideal age Arthur remembered him by, back when he was a good boy. The two were together and smiling. America wondered if England simply ignored the reason for the birthday in the first place. No matter if Arthur said he felt like shit during Alfred's birthday week.

Frankly, Alfred does not care. He won't tear up, but he's up thinking about those times and the one's that followed the rest of the night, long after the others gifts were played with, put away, or disregarded as the case may be. So, he came over and sat down. For a minute, he remembered the cursed chair. There's no tape so it's probably cool. The thing's rickety anyway, fell apart every time Russia sat on it.

England asked if he wanted tea.

No.

England sighed. Coffee?

You actually have some?

Do you want it or not you twat?

Yup.

He left with the usual thinly veiled frustration on his face. The eyebrows make it hard to hide, the way they tilt down like a sinking ship. And he's always frowning, it's taken America years to figure out when to honestly be concerned by it. A few minutes pass, he gets bored. Alfred tilted his chair back. Normally, he tried not to do such things out of his house, but it's only England's house anyway. England's broken plenty of his stuff in the past. Alfred finally took a good look at the floor. It's glaringly obvious now. There's a hexagram. He should get up. Not that he believed any of England's rubbish about magic . . . he doesn't really.

England came back with a cup of coffee. Alfred sat back down and took the coffee when England handed it over. For all he knew, Arthur was only summoning a unicorn or some other nonsense. Or, Alfred's favorite rationalization, it's decorative.

"Is there something wrong?" England sat across from him, and the clock ticking was more apparent with him staring. He tried not to look down.

"Nah, just stretching," he said with a farm boy's smile. It's been a long time since he was one, but some of his people were still farm boys so he pulled it off alright. England seemed to buy it from how Alfred twitched afterwards.

"All right," England said. They drank their respective drinks in silence. Alfred ate the accompanying scone today. England stood first. Oh good, Arthur's getting to the point.

"I suppose you're wondering why I asked you to come," Britain said, taking out a book from a nearby shelf. It had a hexagram on it too. If this were a horror film, this would be the point where he hung on to Japan for dear life. (Japan wasn't really up for much these days though.)

"Y-yea- yeah," he said, without much of his usual bravado. England smirked and looked down.

"And why there's a hexagram on the floor," he acknowledged briefly. It's official. England's gone mad from lack of sleep and torturous day dreams.

Yet, he wouldn't put a curse on America. If anything, as a kid, Arthur had taught Alfred how to defend himself against magic. Never had he been a victim of it, and he'd certainly tried England's patience more than once. Why not then if he really wanted? That and America's birthday's coming up. He would have to be a heartless demon to trick him on his birthday. So, he stayed in the chair against his better judgement.

"A little," he admitted, clinging to the arms rest tighter than he should.

"I've thought a lot of when exactly things went wrong for me," he's looking away from him. He could escape. However, England admitted something went wrong. Arthur does not admit things are/were going wrong.

"At first I blamed France but I survived that," he said with a shake of his head. There's a silent agreement that it's confidential information. Alfred's stomach knotted. He knew what came next. It's not really guilt, but it not a happy feeling. England's gaze was hard as he circled him. He's heard this speech many times before, but never when he's clear headed, and he doesn't take it seriously when he's drunk.

" I realized that it was you. You were the first step in my downfall," He pointed to him. Alfred kind of wished that he would have just punched him in the face again this year.

"Everything's okay with us now. Isn't it?" He thought they were. His history with Japan proved that he can't always know. His skull was too thick sometimes to realize. It's only after the fact that he sees the signs. He can never back down. It's this instinct that made him who he was, and he had dealt with the consequences of it. In the end, America stood alone (while occasionally pestering Canada.)

"Yes, but your birthday always forces me to look back," the face wasn't hostile, far from it. It mirrored what he'd seen before. What still sometimes bothered Alfred through his impenetrable field of awesome was the longing he would sometimes see in Arthur's eyes. It would remind him that he hasn't forgotten when he did used to call him Engwand.

Arthur began to chant. He had somehow changed into his black robe and has a semi-murderous look on his face. The one that darkened his face and the whole room as a consequence. The hexagram glowed underneath him, and Alfred can't ignore it anymore. The time to make snide remarks about it all being special effects was over, better safe than sorry. A tiny part of him thought he sort of felt something, like he's getting lighter and more unfocused, he loosened his grip on the chair. The feeling bubbled up in his chest, like he was on morphine again, or (cough) something else in the sixties, The sky outside was real pretty. No, freaky ancient ritual, he must run.

"That's it. I'm splitting," he said, bolting up. England continued to read the text without bothering to restrain him. Alfred ran smack into a green light, a solid- sci fi esque- barrier.

"Ow, magic force field," he said and rubbed his head. He's shrinking, but his country fine which was both a relief and truly frightening because then, this wasn't even natural. Meaning, he should have paid more attention when England explained how to counteract curses. His calculations for how to escape were getting simpler as well, from using fists to smash past the force field to cry until England let him out.

"Engwand, why'd you'd lock me up" Alfred cried. Arthur shushed him, and he listened. There was a brief flutter of joy that rose from him. He's missed that. He closed the book and put it away. Arthur took off his robe. There was a marginal increase in his speed as he went to pick the child up. He's romanticized the moment far too much. America's heavy even at this age, albeit mostly by muscle at this point. Arthur had to struggle to lift him, but when he does, the touch was restrained to simply holding him aloft, mostly for the sake of feeling the familiar weight of years past.

His eyes were watering, but really, it's from making America's blasted coffee. The tiny hands clutched Arthur's shirt. He can feel Alfred shake a little from the last few minutes, but by all appearances, he was exactly as he was before at this age. Arthur drew a blank. What exactly did he expect to accomplish now that he has gotten this far? The idea, the very dangerous idea had come to him on a whim,(fevered dream, actually), and he'd found the spell easily enough. Truthfully, he hadn't expected America to hold still long enough for him to cast it. He supposed the added force field hadn't exactly been tactically fair on his part.

Oh and the bloody other countries were bound to find fault with it or take advantage of it. No nation had been this small in years, and Sealand didn't count. America's upcoming birthday wouldn't help matters as all eyes would be on him. Alfred had sent invitations well in advance with obnoxious pop up art with lady liberty on it. He kind of hated the thing. Stupid France.

"Arthur, I came to cheer you up during your revolutionary period," Frenchmen waltzed in and immediately ground to a halt.

"You ass, I'm fine. Go away," Damn. The blond git saw him. Stupid France.

France was probably thinking the same of him. Francis's mouth hung open. He dropped the pastries that he brought, one was shaped like America's land mass, another was Americas flag, and the others equally as patriotic. Stupid France.

"What. . . Did . . . You . . . Do?" he said in that overly dramatic way of his. America had dosed off since being picked up. Arthur absently stroked his hair.

"Well, I drank some tea this morning and," England sputtered off. France slapped him. England took it, mostly because he didn't want to let go of the boy just yet.

"No, to America. How is this even possible?" France gestured to the boy. Arthur looked down. France followed his gaze to the painted hexagram on the floor. France slapped his forehead.

"Sacre Bleu! Magique? Idiot fini, Angleterre," France muttered.

England put the boy down on a nearby chair. Arthur turned back to Francis. It didn't matter if Arthur thought he might have acted rashly, but he would not allow Francis to call him out on it.

"Hey, I know what I'm doing. I've raised him once. I can do it again." For each nation's mysterious origin, all of which seemed to follow the delivered by a stork theory, they all weren't technically needed for the land to function. Prussia had also proven that they didn't need the land to function either although they were prone to . . . disappearing after. The countries were simply interlinked to their land. The land reacted to their sorrow, and the nations' reacted to their peoples' pain. Really, he wasn't hurting anyone.

"You already raised him just fine England," France said still unbelieving.

"Yeah well, I . . ." There was a crash in the kitchen.

"At least remember, he's stronger now than he was then, and you've made him a five year old," France said with a fair bit of amusement. Stupid France.

Arthur checked. Alfred broke his old tea set.

"Bloody perfect," England muttered.


	2. Je t'aime Amérique

De France avec mon amour

England and France sat on the sofa, much more quiet than was ever normal between them.

"Not one word France, not one word," England said after a stretch of time. France finished his coffee and doesn't bother to adjust the fallen table, instead putting the empty cup on the floor.

"Fine, I'll give you two. Footprints. Ceiling," he said, pointing up. Yes, that had been a surprise, England had seen first hand America's strength as a child, but the way he defied gravity as if it were nothing astounded him. He might as well have been running down a hill.

"At least he's sleeping now," So, he can run on the ceiling again in a few hours.

"I'll let you be in self denial for a while" France excused himself. England scowled, but let him go. He didn't need or want his help. God forbid, the boy turn out French. It's enough that he taught his kids that. Convenient, he said with Canada next door.

Arthur finally let himself survey the damage. The bookcase was knocked over from America crashing into it. The fire put out and footprints of soot everywhere because Alfred decided to mark his cheeks with two black lines. The two chairs and blanket were arranged so they made a fort. It's where the boy ended up sleeping actually. In retrospect, chasing him had been foolish, it was like unleashing a wrecking ball into his house. That and Alfred had thought it was a game, but it reminded him of the things he had done on purpose, dumping his tea over board for one as if dressing as an Indian had fooled anyone. Alfred had been so very careful about it, infuriatingly so, replacing a broken lock that belonged to one of the captains because he only meant to hurt him in particular and sweeping the docks afterwards along with the rest of his people. At least, the boy had been sorry enough when he broke the tea pot.

Except, he had kind of exploded and spilled out everything he had never said to him, in front of France, no less. Stupid France. The boy had burst into tears and had attempted to run off. Well, he chased him, and the whole thing had gotten worse when Alfred started laughing like nothing happened. He _always _did that. This time though, he had an excuse. His attention span should be shorter. If anything, it might have convinced France that leaving him with the boy was a bad idea, bad blood and all. But really, it's mostly that he's never said it. He shouldn't have to.

He knew. Alfred must know. As a nation, the time hasn't been all that long although some wounds are fresher than that. It doesn't matter anyway. He'd found the closest thing that he could to a do over.

Arthur noted activity under the blankets, the white lump had risen. The tiny arms stretched out. It reminded him of ghost costumes back when the designs weren't so elaborate. All hallows eve- the first time America gave him a pumpkin. It was . . . well - he took it. The boy tried, and he had been so excited about the pumpkin. He figured out something to do with it eventually. Even now, America was quite fond of pumpkin pie. He lifted the sheet off the boy. Alfred yawned as exaggerated as before. After rubbing his eyes, he blinked a few times and looked up at England with a smile. Which faded a little as he looked around, Arthur said nothing.

"Oops," Alfred said with a shrug. Arthur let his eyes close briefly and took a deep breath.

"It's fine," Arthur decided. He didn't exactly handle the tea pot incident well so he can let this one go, just this once.

"Re-really?" Alfred doesn't seem quite so sure. His hands were behind his back, and he's looking down. England ruffled his hair. He hasn't done that since two thousand one - and it was awkward then, done because of the lack of words to come from his mouth. Alfred's response this time was much more positive. The boy hugged him, and he freezes up, arms aloft. No one's hugged him in a while. As nations, hugs generally were deemed more invasive than anything, and the few people that knew about them tended to keep a respectful distance. Alfred's expecting him to embrace back. He can tell by the way he looked up uncertainly and hugged tighter. Arthur's not used to America not being sure of himself. Except that one time, but he tried not to think of that.

"Engwand, are you still mad?" Alfred mumbled. The tone was lower, and it's the voice that usually tips England off that America wanted something. He's too young to have figured out how remarkably effective it was.

"No," he picked him up. The weight made him grunt.

"Did you eat too many scones again?" Right, he's weaker now. He's not an empire anymore, and America's huge. Alfred still thinks he can spin him around and around without a second thought. He still thinks Arthur can keep up with him.

"No, you're getting big is all," Thank god, he only half heartedly attacked Canada, from sea to shining see indeed.

"Oh, okay," he said, making England's words absolute. He's the boss.

"Let's go outside," England said which had America give him another squeeze.

"But what about the mess," Arthur had to stop himself from saying since when have you cared about making a mess.

"The maid will clean it," Arthur told him.

"That's not very nice," Alfred said. Arthur held his tongue, the instinct to make a snide remark hasn't left him. He will have to readjust.

"It's my fault," Alfred added. Arthur sighed as America pouted. Well, the rain had taken over London again anyway.

"Fine, I'll help you," Arthur said while America jumped off of him. He's quick to fix the table. England found he's doing the small things with Alfred doing most of the heavy lifting as if he were simply picking up his toys. It doesn't take long and Arthur realized the mess wasn't nearly as bad as it looked, except for the soot footprints. England swept while America explored, staring at everything with amazement.

"Am I in your house?" America asked with a sort of reverence that's foreign from his tongue. Right, little America never got to see his house. By the time he was old enough, their relations had become strained. Now that he thought about it, Alfred visited more than he honestly needed to.

"Yes," England said.

"I'm so happy," America said with a smile.

England retrieved an old train set, one he'd made long after America's colonial days. He didn't know why he thought of it, but perhaps, he'd enjoy it now.

"Here, I made these for someone else, but you can play with it," They had for all intents and purposes outgrown him anyhow. They at least had gone quietly, or perhaps, he simply rather not have had another spat, not again. Still, he'd held onto to a few of them who more or less complied to his wishes.

"Aw, thanks Britain," Alfred wound the train up and stared in amazement when it puffed out real smoke.

"It's just England now," Arthur corrected him.

"All right Engwand. Irelwand mad at you?" If only it was just that, he gave Alfred a quick pat.

"Something like that," England said. It was fairly quiet after that. The train kept his attention longer than expected. Once the night hit, the sounds of traffic and pedestrians intensify and take on a new rhythm. It was just a familiar buzz in England's head.

"Engwand, I'm tired, and it's too loud," Alfred whined.

"Believe me, it gets just as loud in your place," Progress and all that, the sounds of cars and jumbled masses everywhere were a by product.

"Not everywhere," Alfred mumbled. England nodded. It's not like he hasn't kept a few quiet places for himself as well. With America's size, he probably had a bit more to spare for such places. He took him upstairs and put him to bed, reading stories the boy hasn't heard before, mostly by Flora Annie Steel.

What France found upon returning in the morning did not leave him with high hopes but France should have suspected as much. England was knocked out on the floor with little America trying to shake him awake. He stopped the boy before he could do anything permanently damaging.

"What happened?" he asked the little one who stomped his foot.

"He's not good at catch," Alfred held up the ball. France laughed at England's misfortune. Sure, Arthur could handle the little one just fine-not. Well, Francis could.

"I keep screwing up," Alfred said, tugging on England's jacket.

"Nonsense, England's used to you disappointing him," Francis put a hand on the boy's shoulder. Now that he said it, Alfred's eyes went wide, and his lip quivered.

"Wh-what?" Alfred stuttered, and my, he'd forgotten America used to be a cute subdued lad. England was knocked out. Why not?

"How would you like to come to my house?" France bent down to meet his eye level. Alfred huddled behind England's unconscious body.

"I don't want Engwand to be mad at me anymore," Alfred said, shaking England some more.

"He won't mind," Francis insisted with a wave of his hand.

"But Engwand's still not moving ," Alfred said, shaking England again. Francis can hear the heavy thud of each consecutive shake.

"America that's not helping," There's a scone on his head. Francis wondered who the hell taught him that food helps heal injuries that way.

"Now, America, food doesn't work that way, and if it did, crappy English food wouldn't help," France said, puffing out his cheeks. America shook his head.

"Engwand says your food sucks," The little one crossed his arms and looked up with a humph. France's jaw dropped, and he resisted the urge to kick Arthur in the gut. Francis can't believe England went that low.

"Oh really?" He produced a strawberry fruit tart. Alfred took it and consumed the tart in a matter of seconds. His eyes lit up, and he sparkled. Pfft, he knew they were related.

Omggoh,ff, fantastico," Well mostly, they all tried to take a piece of him at one point. Alfred jumped around. Francis swore he could feel the floor shake so he held onto the wall to keep himself from falling over.

"Tù sabes español?" France asked which caused Alfred to pause.

"Si, orita la populación de hente hispanico en mi pais esta creciendo. Es un poco differente el español de acqui y se me olvida palabras so no ablo mucho con Espania," Alfred replied quickly and very fluently. Considering he used the word awesome ten or more times a meeting, France couldn't think of much to say to that.

"I see," Francis said with undisguised surprise. Alfred just smiled and ate the scone on England's head. Arthur muttered unintelligibly. He got up and puzzled over the ball next to him. Crap, he'd taken too long to take him away. It doesn't take long for Arthur to notice him and yell at France with a flustered air of alarm.

"When the hell did you get here? Get out," He's quick to pick up Alfred.

"Frawnce's food is really good. Can I have some more? " he asked. Francis loved how Arthur's face just dropped and grew gloomy.

"Oh, you like Francis's food . . . well," He's huddled on the floor. Alfred patted him looking unsure what made him so upset. Francis let out a throaty laugh.

"Oh America, have you heard of burgers yet?" he produced one. Alfred ran over. Arthur grabbed him mid run. The glare he gave him almost matched the pirate of long ago, almost. His anger was still festering underneath. He came right up to France.

"You wouldn't dare," Arthur hissed. France gave him the royal smile that always causes rose petals to fly everywhere. Alfred grabbed a few, making noises of awe. England positioned America to the side. Oh no, he knew what that meant. He was swiftly kicked out of England.

"Now America, don't you talk to other nations if you're alone," England demanded, and America nodded asking if he can make fruit tarts. Well, he'll try. He heard someone else come through the door. Now what? It better not be France.

"Hey England, France texted me a picture of little America in your house. Well, I figured it was photoshopped as a joke because America's birthday is com-" He stopped, eyes wide.

"Wow," Spain said. Arthur prepared to do some damage control.

"Now Spain, forget what you saw," England said, quick to step between Spain and America. Antonio grabbed one of the swords on the wall. Oh, why did he ever think that was a good idea.

"Arthur, I think we have a lot to talk about unless you think you can take me on_ land_," Antonio said with a grin. Bollocks.

_** Explanations more or less**_

_**The Boston tea party was a peaceful protest, and they very deliberately only destroyed the tea and cleaned up afterward. It was also reported that when they found out one of the locks broke they compensated the captain who owned the lock. **_

_**Apparently according to an article I read, my country loved pumpkins from his colonial days. In England, it became a pauper's dish and wasn't highly regarded like it was in the colonies. England also apparently invented pumpkin pie.**_

_**I also have England vaguely mentioning the slow decolonization of his empire, and the fact he still owns a few islands. **_

_**Translations**_

_**France asked America if he knew Spanish. **_

_**America said the Hispanic population in his country is growing. He also said the language is a bit different from Spain's, and he often forgets words so he doesn't talk to him much. **_

_**Also, I tried to have the title write out from France with all my love. **_

_**Let me know if anything is incorrect.** _


	3. Te Quiero America

Te Quiero America

England wasn't in the mood for this. He had a killer head ache from the bruise on his head. It had been a bad idea to play catch with the boy when baseball was America's past time. Albeit, by now, he had such a huge sport franchise that baseball wasn't as popular as it had once been. The point was sword fighting with Spain wasn't on his agenda today. So, he might consider talking to him and see how things played out.

"What do you want Spain?" Antonio still had a sword pointed at him and the other was much too far out of his reach. His attention wasn't on him though. He was staring at Alfred with piqued interest.

"Oh, now you pay attention to him," England griped, and it wasn't helping England's patience that the boy smiled back. The boy was too friendly for his own good.

"I found him first," Antonio countered. Oh, he so wasn't trying to pull that again was he?

"No, the Vikings found him first. He's _always _been English," he made sure to emphasize it in hopes Spain would back off. Sure, Spain visited America, but he hadn't been hard pressed to stay with him, often leaving him in favor of Mexico and his charges in South America.

"Right, your brothers, because everyone knows you get along _famously_," He grinned and lifted the sword a little higher making England edge back. Somehow, Alfred wasn't completely getting the danger of the situation. He looked worriedly at England but eyed the sword like he wanted to play too.

"Ora, mijito, ven aqui," He gestured to America who complied. He lifted the boy up, but annoyingly, managed to keep the sword steady along England's neck.

"Ora asi," he said encouragingly. Alfred steadied himself, but finally realized that England was angry.

"Y Inglaterra?" he asked, holding onto Antonio's neck nervously. The glare England gave him had him look down. Antonio rocked him a little.

"Todo esta bien," he assured the boy. It rather annoyed England he was such a natural at parenting. Also, it finally registered that Alfred had replied and understood the Spanish spoken to him.

"Wait, Alfred speaks Spanish?" He knew that some of America's people did from immigration and schools, but sometimes, it honestly seemed to England that Alfred didn't even know English all that well, the way he carried on sometimes.

"Tcht, I did teach him, but alas, kids always seem to have a hard time with it," Antonio sighed from some other memory. He looked America over, and the boy showed signs of growing uncomfortable from the attention. While he was preoccupied, England attempted to pull way from the swords reach. He hadn't found it all that necessary to carry a weapon in a while. Arthur was starting to regret it, but really, all he needed was to get far enough away and disarm him.

" It's been a while since Romano's been as cute. Say how did you do it?" He turned to him, readjusting the sword so it came dangerously close to his neck again. England's face was starting to darken, and he could see Alfred shake in recognition, not that it was particularly directed at him. Oh hell, if he was going to start doing other countries these sort of favors, he wouldn't do this again, not to anyone or for anyone else.

"None of your business," he said, swiftly dodging while simultaneously knocking the sword out of Spain's hand. Alfred made his move as well, swiftly kicking his legs around and attempting to squirm away. Antonio was having a hard time holding him. England charged at Spain who had the sense to side step him.

"Calmate, quieres un churro?" Antonio offered desperately. England rolled his eyes. That was his answer to everything. America stopped struggling. However, it was remarkably effective.

"Si!" America said as he held his arms up happily. Arthur rubbed the area causing his ever increasing headache.

"Hand him over, I won him fair and square," Arthur had plenty of scars to prove it, and Spain didn't have all that much claim to him at all as far as he was concerned.

"You're the one that made him up for grabs again. Besides, if I can't have a mini Romano, a mini America works too," he decided as America happily munched on a churro, curse his charge's easily bought compliance. If he had any chance at all of winning this, he had to get Alfred's cooperation.

"America you do want to stay with me don't you?" It's not like he remembers why he rebelled in the first place. For some inexplicable reason, little America adored him, and he would take full advantage of that now. This grabbed Alfred's always fleeting attention. Antonio secured his grip on America.

"Oh, I think we all know he doesn't," Antonio said which seemed to puzzle little America. Oh, they always loved to bring up his colony's uprising didn't they? He had plenty of scars of that as well, and he didn't appreciate them making light of the situation. Antonio took advantage of England's lack of response to run out the door. This lucky for Arthur caused little America to panic. He kicked Spain hard in the stomach and ran back to him. Hah, no one could brainwash(cough) raise children like he could. Even if most of his colonies had left him, Elizabeth still was their honorary overseer. So, it's not like he was on bad terms with most of them. And so long as Alfred didn't remember what happened later, England would take advantage of America's inexplicable love for him.

"Ay, pequeño diablo. Fine, keep him, but his birthday will get here eventually, how the hell are you going to explain this to everyone? Do you think there just going to accept this?" Spain asked with obvious skepticism, never mind he considered doing the same to southern Italy earlier. Alfred tugged on his pant leg, and Arthur picked him up. The poor lad was shaking from the attempted kidnapping, muttering something about, ese hombre me va llevar. He hoped he'd stop muttering in Spanish soon. It was just strange to hear it coming from Alfred's mouth, at least it wasn't French. Well, he might as well accept responsibility for his craziness because he would not give up America ever again.

"Two countries down, one hundred and ninety to go," he then slammed the door in Spain's face.

_**Translations more or less. **_

_**Spain**_

_**Son, come here.**_

_**There you go. **_

_**America: And England? **_

_**Spain: Everything is fine. **_

_**Calm down, do you want a churro? **_

_**America: yes (Probably obvious but might as well) **_

_**Hey little devil. **_

_**That man's going to take me away. **_

_**Hopefully, all the Spanish didn't confuse everyone one. Also, most of the historical stuff is pretty self explanatory so hopefully you enjoyed the chapter. **_


	4. Mon Freré Come Home

Mon Frere' come home

Alone in his chair this evening, Arthur sat and stared at the accumulating rain outside his flat. There were excited buzzes about the Olympics he would be hosting this year, and whispers about Harry's trek visiting former colonies. He must admit his past behavior had worried him, but he seemed to be pulling himself together. The antics of previously inbred monarchy had steeled his stamina for the insane. No scandals this century could phase him or leave him half as crazed as he had been during Henry the VIII reign. The media could psycho analyze the boy tapping his foot to the music all they wanted. As far as he was concerned, it didn't matter if the boy liked to dance or not.

As he vaguely let his thoughts flick through various political and cultural goings on, he finally let himself think of the mess he had gotten into, purposely and unnecessarily. Arthur hadn't done anything so asinine since the Busby's chair incident, and he hadn't been in his right mind with his country as tired and war torn as it was. Part of him had resented his need to be helped by Alfred at all, no matter how he saw it now, he couldn't fathom why he felt the need to curse America who had been entirely helpful, if pushy and persistent at every meeting. Well . . . he didn't have all that long to figure out if he wanted this to be a sort of practical joke that he very much enjoyed, or as he had been telling everyone else, a deadly serious venture. As Arthur, he was deadly serious, but as England, he really needed to stop the sappy parental drama and give America back.

Not that the country really needed him,

No, not at all, he walked the London streets all the time without people batting an eye.

They probably didn't even realize he was gone .

He wasn't having second thoughts.

He's Arthur.

He's England.

He is my baby brother.

He's the god damned United States of America.

There was a light knock on the door. He ignored it, knowing it probably wasn't someone he wanted to see, and on such short notice, it was probably one of his brothers. No matter if on good or bad terms, England was never thrilled about seeing them. The knocking got louder. Oh please, not all of them at once, it took him days to recover from that sort of abuse.

"Engwand, let me in!" Alfred yelled. He left his chair in an instant. How did the boy even get outside? They were several flights up, so he couldn't have snuck out the window. He had seen him close his eyes, curl up into a little ball, and start to snore, completely tuckered out. He didn't get America's fluctuating energy levels at all. One day he's an early riser, and the next he's gone nocturnal, sleeping at random intervals throughout the day. He opened the door to find a sopping wet Alfred, all muddied from playing in the puddles of London's streets.

"America, what are you doing outside?" he said, and Arthur couldn't keep the exasperation from his voice. Must the boy always escape, throw a bloody buffalo in the air and completely surprise him at every turn? He didn't even look miserable, stuck on an excited adrenaline high as he shivered while jumping about in an impatience dance to get warm.

"You wouldn't let me out. So I went out, it started to rain like it does in Seattle, but I didn't have an umbrella, and it was fun, until it started getting dark. I got lost, but then, Irewand took me home," Alfred prattled on as he came inside, immediately making his way to the lit fireplace. He held his hands up while his coat and soggy clothes dripped water on England's floor. England sighed, good, at least one of his own found him, not that he usually found that to be a good thing.

"Did they say anything?" he asked. The boy didn't answer him as he concentrated on ringing his clothes as best he could while still keeping them on. It occurred to England that America had been wearing the same clothes for well over two days now. Even if he dried them, he would need to stop by America's place and salvage his good clothing which he still insisted were only for special occasions. Actually, it would be rather pointless because America definitely wouldn't have kept his baby clothes which to most people today looked an awful lot like a night gown. He had to admit this whole week affected his mind more than it should. Sometimes it went somewhere far away, leaving his body to scramble for the keys or where the hell he needed to be at five thirty since he had neglected to write the place.

Then again, he could get some of the boy's things while America's neighbors weren't savvy to the new situation. Video games and other monetary things that might keep him out of the rain would be good, and maybe, well, he couldn't think of much else he'd want to retrieve, but he was curious. America had a tendency to hover when he did stop by. Contrary to what most countries might say, America did not brag about his large estate, and definitely, did not want others touching his things. So, really, England had usually only seen the kitchen and living room area.

"Irewand and some other guy that also said he was Irewand said to change me back and not be an Idiot. I don't know what they're talking about though," America said, and England only half listened, at least the two didn't want to pick a fight with him about it, because they certainly would have stayed instead of dropped Alfred off otherwise. It was more important to get Alfred out of his wet clothes right now.

"Well, I wasn't honestly prepared for your arrival here, but I do have some of your old clothes," Locked away so deep in his closet that not even France dared to venture there, they may mock each other, but they knew enough never to invade the other's personal space. Unless they were at war, then he would slash away at France's briefs all he wanted. That hadn't been the case for quite a while so, his closet was safe. As weak as he had felt for keeping that stuff, it would prove useful now. Even if Alfred pretended not to be bothered by the cold, he could hear Alfred produce the beginning of the word freezing a few times. He picked the boy up, ignoring whines that he was fine as well as the fact that the water spread to his own clothes and went upstairs.

The simple act of lifting him proved even more taxing going upstairs. Arthur found himself panting some. America gave him a small pat of encouragement as they traveled up. Very much against his usual decorum, he plopped America unceremoniously on the bed. As he dug into the abyss of tailored suits, Alfred continued to sit quietly, subdued and shaking. He eventually took out a large chest which piqued Alfred's interest. He stood and peered over his shoulder. The more clothes he took out, the more he realized that the colonial look wasn't going to help Alfred blend in. Still, he couldn't let the boy keep shaking like he was. The wet clothes discarded, he made sure Alfred was properly dry before giving him the slacks. He didn't have too much difficulty putting each foot into the proper holes. Arthur helped him put on the puffed up shirt and vest, mostly straightening where wrinkled pockets were. America put on the tri cornered hat experimentally. The shoes were properly buckled, and the boy showed discomfort but at least he stopped shaking. There, they could make the trip now.

Although he would have loved to have a teleport button for these sort of quick trips, he would have to get organized and prepare just like everyone else. The only difference was he had his own private aircraft to take him there, being England did grant him such royalties. He dared not tamper with magic while Alfred was under its affects. It was never a good idea to cross contaminate spells. He packed his clothes, just an overnight bag. He'd rather not have a back to back flight to and fro.

"What are you doing?" Alfred asked, scratching at the old cotton of his shirt. He continued to pack and ignored the tike. If they wanted to go today, he would have to hurry along. "I don't want you to go," he whined which caused England to pause. He supposed it did look like he was going alone. America grabbed a hold of his arm and tugged. Alfred hadn't held back on his strength, channeling his discontent into the force of the pull, and Arthur found himself slamming his head on the bed and landing on his knees. This beckoned a memory he'd rather not delve into at the moment, not when he was to embark on a long fight and have little else to do besides think. The boy pushed him up, and England let himself fall on the bed so he could catch his breath from the sudden contact with the edge of it.

In between breaths, he mentioned "You're coming with me to your place, no need to worry." America looked down and allowed his shoe to press into the wood floor tentatively.

"You're not leaving after dropping me off?" Alfred asked which forced England to stop his brief rest and sit up so he could converse effectively.

"No, we're only picking a few things up," And snooping a little, no, it hadn't irked him all that much that one time where America seemed to trust Lithuania to traverse the house while leaving him barred to the living room. Alfred embraced him, and his hands clung to his damp suit. Despite the painful strength of the embrace, England returned the favor.

"Didn't I just tell you we weren't staying," Alfred shouldn't still have anxiety from the coming trip. Alfred loosened his grip so he could jump up and down excitedly.

"I know, but it means I'm moving in right?" Oh, England hadn't even considered that. He'd taken for granted how often he'd left America alone in between visits. Not that he wasn't excited by this new chance, but the others had left him with little time to enjoy it. He packed Alfred's remaining clothes. Once he stood, Alfred used the momentum from his prancing about to tackle him down. He couldn't seem to scold the behavior when the bright blues looked down at him without a trace of anything but joy. Well, that settles it. He's Arthur first, and he's keeping Alfred.

Unlike the grueling weeks it used to take to get to America, the trip only lasted eight hours. They made it to Alfred's house by eight o' clock. France seemed to not have calculated England's next move, because no one stood outside the place to stop him. Alfred ran ahead of him. The place was fairly clean as usual; if Alfred had an idea of when someone was stopping by, it usually was. America ran around in circles.

"There's so much more space here," America sighed happily. Arthur considered worriedly if the boy could adjust properly to the small flat. He'd made quite a mess earlier.

"Hey, where's my toys?" Alfred stopped suddenly and pondered. Arthur would point him in the right direction, but he had no idea where America hid his game systems. Alfred brightened suddenly.

"I know. I put in my storage space with my gun," he giggled happily. Arthur trailed after Alfred when he heard the gun comment. He noticed and turned around momentarily.

"You'll help me if it's up high right?" Alfred asked, jimmying the lock on the closet before rushing in . (England had an idea were his prized unicorn collection had gotten to.) Alfred had suspiciously acquired exact duplicates of which he gave back one at a time on each of his birthdays. Cheap country. He nodded nonetheless, all these things could be corrected with time. Still, it'd be a shame to disappoint the lad as America wouldn't have kept anything given to him. And yet when he caught up to America, he had the toy soldiers surrounding him; the one's he'd carved himself. He stared, unsure what to make of it, several ideas came to mind. Like the fact that America was filled with child like wonder, he would obviously bare his toys no ill will. That must be it, after all, the sentiments he had couldn't be mutual, not from the colony that fought tooth and nail to get away from him. The one that constantly asserted he was the best and bickered with him. From what he could recall, it wasn't ever too serious. The last fight had been about America declaring pizza a vegetable. Alfred grinned and waved at his guardian at the door way. He stared some more, until something clicked. What else was in here?

"Aw right men, we need to infiltrate camp. You back him up. You back him up to. And you, get me a sandwich," America ordered pointing at the selected soldiers. While Alfred entertained himself with that, he rummaged through America's belongings. Some while interesting, proved to be mostly from America's later years, some old hickory, a suspiciously home brewed keg, and what looked to be left overs of the big Y2K paranoia America had been plagued with. Then, he'd tripped over something. He lifted the gun of which he could identify readily from the scared surface. He'd done that, but he could not do the same to it's owner. America hugged his leg. England had to steady himself from the sudden contact.

"You found my gun!" Alfred said excitedly, and Arthur found himself filled with a morbid curiosity.

"Do you remember using it," Arthur asked, feeling along the wooden grove his bayonet had made. Alfred scratched his head pondering.

"Mmm, no, I just know it's mine," Alfred decided finally. Relieved but worried at his interest in the gun, Arthur put it up high. Here came the whining.

"I want my gun," America stomped his foot, causing the boxes where the gun sat to wobble. Alfred grinned as he made the connection. Arthur picked him up quickly.

"Let's just get you clothes," There must be a mall somewhere. America's keen eye spotted a suit in the distance.

"There's one," The boy was right, a dusty worn suit sat pitifully in the corner, not that it was of any use. Arthur didn't give it much thought at first. He picked up the soldiers Alfred had left on the floor and handed them to the boy. It occurred to him finally if he wasn't using the suit anymore; then, it had to be- no, not that. And yet, if he'd kept that old suit, the last thing he'd given to him before the fighting began, he must at least care enough to be grateful for the gifts Arthur gave him. There's no other reason he'd keep a suit he doesn't use anymore.

"Not that one," Arthur said which confused the boy. He didn't have to elaborate as Alfred suddenly perked up. America squirmed out of England's grip, and he let him as there's wasn't a threat this side of the ocean.

"Mattie, you got so _big_," Alfred exclaimed in admiration. Why was America always impressed by everything that was huge? Arthur tried to think if he'd ever put too much emphasis on size in the past. Guiltily, he did remember always commenting that he'd enjoyed the fresh air and wide open space of America's home.

"You're okay, thank goodness," Canada whispered. By his lack of surprise at the situation England suspected foul play, a.k.a France. England slammed the door open. Canada held Alfred timidly, and England very quickly realized nothing he could say or do would likely convince America that Canada was evil if Matthew kept up that expression.

"Canada, put the boy down," Arthur demanded which seemed to confuse America.

"Mon Frere'," America pointed to Canada. Oh, and here comes the French. Matthew steadily backed away as Arthur continued to advance.

"It's okay. Prussia had a mental breakdown once. I'm sure we can give you the help you need," Matthew mumbled which wasn't too hard to understand once a person lived with him as long as Arthur had.

"I'm fine. Give me America, before you're the one that needs to go to therapy" He snapped at him, and Canada's backed himself into a corner. America hadn't given up explaining the situation.

"My brother," he tried again which, while cute, wasn't helping Arthur's frustration of being thwarted, even here.

"I can't. He belongs here, and his birthdays tomorrow. He's turning two hundred and thirty six. This is ridiculous," The whisper was actually fairly audible as Canada tried to speak up. He grabbed America who doesn't resist but still was perplexed by the whole thing.

"Mi hermano," he emphasized again, using his hands as well. Arthur breathed deeply to avoid snapping at the boy that he knew this.

"Face it Canada, most of the wars you've fought in have been in my name. You can't take me," While Canada did shake pitifully, he mumbled something else.

"I'm not alone," he said causing England to laugh at the polar bear that seemed to have found Alfred's left over chicken and now had the bucket stuck to his head.

"I can take the little polar bear," England said. There wasn't anyone the Englishmen feared.

"Stupid limey," Tony said, most definitely behind him. Oh hell no. America lurched out of his grip, squealing in delight. Eyes huge, he looked up at the glorified gray mass with great admiration.

"Wow, what are you?" America asked, poking the grey flesh. England expected the alien to curse some more. Instead, Tony patted the boys head.

"Your Friend, I was here to set up decorations for tomorrow," The alien explained. Alfred didn't register much of that for he simply said.

"I'm going to call you Tony," Arthur remembered all the other Tony's Alfred had gone through. He had an obsession with that name. The alien shooed Alfred back into Canada's hold, and America explained all about England's home.

"Now we must fight to the end," Tony said once Alfred was sufficiently distracted. England always knew he was evil.

"Then, France gave me a fruit tart. Can you make a fruit tart Mattie? Engwand burned mine," Alfred asked, making England's cheeks burn. It was perfectly edible.

"Bring it," England said and held his fists up. They circled each other. No actual sparing actually took place because Tony quickly cheated and held up a ray gun.

"And Spain tried to kidnap me," Alfred said very much indignant about the whole thing.

"You know I always heard not to trust the little grey ones," England countered, unsure how deadly the bright yellow gun was. It could be a toy gun for all he knew.

"And there was a good twin and an evil twin," Alfred rambled on.

"Change him back," He pointed to Alfred.

"How do I know that's a real gun?" England said wearily. Tony sent a blast through the open window, emitting a deadly plasma show, or the tree outside would say as much.

So with a ray gun pointed to his head, England took out his portable little magic book and set up the counter spell. Of all the countries in all the world, it had to be an alien. That didn't make any sense. He finished, and as much as he hated Tony, perhaps, it was a sign that he'd been much to insane to see.

"Come here Alfred," he beckoned.

"And that's about it," he finished. Matthew put him down now that Arthur seemed to be cooperating. This was going to be the hard part, because after this, they were going to pretty much be at each others throats again. Alfred skipped over and skidded to a stop in front of Arthur.

"Stay in the middle," Alfred did as told, grinning foolishly at him. He almost closed the book, but Tony pressed the ray gun harder to his back. So, left with little choice, he began chanting and the lights tinged red, white, and blue. Alfred with his hand on his hips and as American as ever grinned at him. He didn't look unhappy. Then again, America rarely did.

"Tony, escort Arthur upstairs while I put these away. We're going to have a talk about boundaries and the fourth amendment," Alfred instructed, holding up his toy soldiers. Arthur should have considered the pesky little detail about remembering the experience afterwards. Tony again edged the Brit upstairs, as Alfred walked into his storage closet, muttering something about naming one of the soldiers Tony.


	5. Happy Birthday Love

Happy Birthday Love

Arthur waited, sitting in what must be a guest room, not that he saw much reason for it. America never did seem to have all that many of them over. He stayed in the guest chair and eyed Tony passively. The alien still pointed his ray gun at him which truly sent chills through England's spine. How could America not notice how antagonistic this alien was? Worse, did America have a ray gun somewhere ready to shoot if they teased him one too many times? He couldn't seem to think of anyone else who actually liked this Alien. So America would have a complete monopoly on the market( annihilating all of them), or England just really needed sleep.

Finally, he was saved from possibly having to negotiate with the alien as he heard America's solid and firm footsteps come up stairs. Whistles of Yankee Doodle dandy followed, and Alfred came in casually, letting the door ricochet behind him. He gestured to the alien to come closer although he couldn't hear most of it: the words, Brit and magic came up more than once. The alien shook his head, and America pointed to the door. Tony almost closed the door behind him before Alfred stopped him.

"Leave it open in case he pulls a fast one," America's stance was cautious, tense and lithe like an agitated predator, and such paranoia in the boy hadn't been witnessed in many years. Arthur disliked being the cause of it, but surely, Alfred could see from his memories that he'd meant him no harm. America pulled a chair over to sit down next to Arthur, never once turning his back on the other country.

"Arthur, you turned me into a kid. I thought we were past all that. What the hell?" he didn't shout it or pander the words in a threatening way. Alfred simply seemed insulted, much like Arthur would have been if Francis had groped him in the midst of arguing. Arthur recognized the signs of defiance welling up inside Alfred once more, the level right before things got truly ugly, Boston tea party and Boston Massacre ugly. England did not want that sort of animosity creeping up again, especially when Alfred looked as if he were daring him to try it.

"Alfred, I only wanted," What he missed, what he always missed when his birthday came, Alfred needing him for more than a war or two although his people were certainly fed up with that by now. Their memories were short, and they don't realize why he will never really let him go. They don't realize that in a way they were human, and will fall into old patterns sometimes, for better or worse.

"You never listen to me, Engwand," Dear lord, Arthur was seeing things. Again, there was little America, and he couldn't help but feel a little relieved. Perhaps, the whole thing with that meddling alien, who had no business messing with his plans, had been a dream. Until, Alfred snapped his fingers and took him away from his wanderings. No, Alfred remained rather angry at him and unlike Canada, he had a tendency to explode rather than implode.

"And, you yelled at me for breaking a tea pot. Are you that hyper sensitive about what happened?" Alfred almost laughed at that, but it wasn't a happy laugh. Arthur recognized it as a sordid one that he'd heard in that day of smoke and ash, completely bitter. One that said as they dreaded to hear in those days, so, this is what you really think of me?

"You touched my stuff," The little one appeared again, and England disregarded the idea that he was having a mental breakdown. If they couldn't get him to take tests after seeing him talking to "himself," (having friends others can't see is a pain), then, he wouldn't admit this was a problem. Little Alfred stomped his foot, and the whole place seemed to shake. No, England understood the sporadic flipping of personas differently. When Alfred said such childish things, it comforted England to know that he wasn't all that grown up just yet. It didn't last as Alfred continued to rant, gesturing angrily with his hands as Arthur had seen Romano do on occasion.

"That totally wasn't cool. How would you feel if I turned you into a little walking target and handed you to your brothers?" Alfred pointed an accusing finger at him. Arthur couldn't find it in himself to feel bad for what he had done. The few times they were actually left alone had been pleasant, and as far as this week went, he had not suffered more of the usual lack of sleep and appetite despite that being the original source of the madness. The veiled threat caused him to stiffen to which Alfred smirked, sensing he had struck a cord. America might be persistent enough to try, (something all of America's past foes had learned the hard way). Arthur forced himself to relax as he considered the value of the threat. Like Alfred even had anyone left as an ally with that sort of magic besides himself, well, he would hope his brothers wouldn't be cruel enough to dignify such a request with a response.

"You were perfectly safe America, "Arthur said without hesitation. Sure, they had tried to take him, but like past attempts, the other countries left empty handed. He knew how to defend his little brother, something Alfred fought against without realizing it, part of why Arthur had become so strict in the first place. The thing that had ultimately led things to never be the same again, well, until he'd come up with this somewhat ludicrous plan. This one at least did not involve the tedious task of repairing a historic chair that splintered into many pieces.

"Is that why I almost got kidnapped by Spain and France?" Alfred crossed his arms defiantly, knowing he was right. He's overreacting, exaggerating, making more trouble than the issue was really worth.

"I handled the situation just fine," Arthur smirked as Alfred failed to counter act his statement. The boy had wanted to stay with him each time, and little Alfred had been grateful. As for this one, America sighed, shaking his head, disapproval still radiating from him.

"That's not the point, "he muttered, and the sour tone caused Arthur to snap.

"Blast it, did you have any fun at all?" he shouted because he wondered after reliving the whole ordeal if Alfred had cared for him all that much. He'd chosen sugary treats over him twice, and Canada, freaking (what was his name again? ), right, Matthew. This annoyance did not last long as Alfred hadn't expected such a question. He blushed when he couldn't seem to answer, losing some of his previous fire.

" I uh . . . there was . . . Look I was five, everything seems fun when you're five," he decided, holding himself more tightly, still somewhat indignant.

"America that's not answering my question," Confident again, he looked up at him, not too bothered this time by the difference in height, waiting, knowing, the inevitable answer.

"Yeah sure, as a kid, I didn't hate it okay," He looked down as he said it. England let out a small chuckle, making Alfred scowl.

"Good," Arthur said lightly as one would to being handed the newspaper or another crumpet. Uncrossing his arms, Alfred sighed in frustration. Again, he witnessed the young little cherub, in his large shirt, across from him. Instead of his usual content smile, the little one pouted, arms raised up in defeat.

"No matter what I say or do-" he stared up at England with pure desperation, often seen when Arthur moved the biscuits out of his reach. England's lack of negative response riled Alfred further which caused Arthur to laugh as the other jumped up and down. ( The room shaking did concerned him a little).

"You always treat me like a little kid," America whined as he tugged at his collar although he remained composed enough to not try and push England off the ground. He let go quickly, and Arthur vaguely watched him as if tuning into the telly. When Alfred realized that he wasn't getting a response this way, he poked him on the chest.

"I saved you," The little one curled his hand into a little fist and pumped his chest, brimming with pride. Arthur nodded, knowing to argue the point now would only make Alfred go red in the face.

"Engwand?" Alfred stretched his name out so the sound lasted longer becoming sweet and cute. Arthur listened, enjoying the sound of it. This is not what Alfred wanted as he waved his hand in front of Arthur.

"Engwand, "he said again with the same tone. England knew that he wasn't really saying it in the cutesy way and more in the annoy hell out of Arthur way but his mind did not break the illusion. A great courtesy for an old man who hated his son's birthday more than any other day in the year, and England had some bad memories. The freshness of it was part of it, and something else, something he had gained and lost with this one relationship, an unconditional love that no other country had come close to matching. If it wasn't for his people, he would have gone mad long ago. Alfred, on the verge of tears, (Or was that an illusion as well?) lifted him a little, not completely off the chair but enough to jerk him out of his day dream.

"England," he said, again lower, a rare tone indeed, one of genuine worry. He could fake it easily, and it was hard to tell when it was sincere, their current debate, made it almost impossible to know.

"Yes, lad?"he said, equally receptive which conquered some of Alfred's remaining anger. America sat back down and turned to him, a serious sort of pity on his face, content to analyze him. England bristled at the accusation. Why direct that soft hearted gaze to him? England had every reason in the world to be happy, besides the bothersome economic problems many nations faced.

"Why did you do it?" he repeated in a more civil manner, an unfathomable question rising under it. What do you want? What can I give you without compromising my own strength and resolve? Arthur didn't know, and his own answer best fit a cheesy soap opera. He decided it was one of the many things best left unsaid.

"Because I could," he scoffed which did not engage Alfred as he expected. The invitation to forget the matter and fight ignored, Alfred looked out the window.

" How can you be so careless with the most fragile things? I should have crushed you, smothered you, so you could never leave," Repeating his earlier comments that Arthur shouted at little Alfred when he smashed the tea pot, again the bitter look consumed his being and he stared cooly at Arthur.

"Alfred, forget that I yelled at you. I was tired and," England apologized profusely, knowing how truly exhausted and disoriented his meager meals and sleepless nights made him, even Francis had been surprised by the outburst at the time. The shouts had been a true show of his inner term oil, ever present and ignored easily with proper rest and food.

"You don't respect me anymore, "America choked out this sentence as if it had squeezed at his heart to say it because their might be a smidgen of truth to it. Or at least England assumed as much when Alfred stopped to wipe away stray tears provoked by the retelling. Alfred had the mind set of a five-year old when he heard these words, and much to Arthur's dismay, they had affected the boy more than he realized.

"You're working yourself up," he stood to pat Alfred on the back, and the boy let out a shaky breath.

"You never listen anymore," he bit his lip, probably recalling the many times the elder's words had been ignored. Arthur noted that Alfred lost some momentum after that, leaning back on his chair. Glad to have that over with, Arthur watched him carefully for any signs of a further break down. Tony looked away uncomfortably which was a small victory for England, so the thing could do something other than curse at him.

"I'm tired and sick of this feeling in my gut telling me I screwed up, every year," Vulnerable, the type of opening England used to search for in the earlier years but had since given up finding, Arthur knew better than to take advantage of it. Alfred would regain his senses eventually and hate him for it.

"America, maybe I should just leave," Arthur said, not wanting to hear of yet another of his failures to reach the boy successfully. Alfred shook his head, taking a breath. England ignored the silent plea. Alfred's hand caught his sleeve, forcing him to turn around.

"I don't want this to happen again. I don't want magic turning into some shortcut to get what you want," Forceful, America meant every word, but the accusations agitated him. Magic wasn't a short cut, just another skill the sorry world had forgotten, something likely to disappear in the next century all together.

"I never meant to upset you," he held his tongue, ready to apologize. One, he had caused the boy emotional duress before his birthday. Two, Arthur had neglected to buy him a gift with the earlier commotion and excitement.

"You only meant to take away my independence, a pattern that gets old really quickly. It's not cute," Alfred raised an eyebrow, daring him to try and deny it.

"That's not why I did it," Arthur replied curtly which shocked the other as his face switched form general defiance to quiet befuddlement. He waited, leaning further into the chair, handily designed to take the pressure from the fact that he had yet to make it budge.

"I'd like us to be close again," he said, and the conversation paralleled the one after world war two when all the allies had been filled with elation and as much optimism as Alfred always conveyed, a day or two before reality set in. Alfred groaned, muttering colorful language creatively combined with American euphoniums.

"We are," he said,which was true in that, "you're inside my house, and I haven't let my alien shoot you yet" way.

"Not like before," He hated to admit it to himself, but part of the reasons he did snap at Alfred so much was there never seemed to be any trace of the darling little boy he had raised. Alfred laughed in his usual way.

"Of course not, I'm not five anymore," he said, making Arthur look like the nonsensical one for once.

"We can't get through a meeting without annoying each other," England defended himself which America contemplated as he looked up at the ceiling.

" Tell you what, for my birthday, you sign this treaty that my lawyers set up, and we will call it even," he held up it, brushing off their previous conversation.

"What? Do you want Sealand?" Arthur sounded more hopeful than he intended. Sometimes the boy got on his nerves.

"It's not a country thing," America corrected, making England curious about the contents. He scanned over the page, reading out the main agreement.

"I will not perform spells on America ever, and should I be incapacitated, France holds the right to decide if England is allowed to use magic on me or not?" he growled out the last part. Why the hell did France have any right to decide that sort of thing? It's France. The most spiteful country he ever met. He couldn't stop him from doing what he wanted. America encouraged him to read the note, referring to a particular section.

"I will also ask America if I want to chill with him, instead of cursing him for my own amusement. Could you please use actual English?" The sentence left a sticky residue on his tongue, reminding him of the horrible things America had done to his language over the years.

"Look at this part," he said without acknowledging the Brit's anger. The next part left him in better spirits and had him take the whole thing a little more seriously.

"I am, by order of this contract, obligated to visit you on your birthday, regardless of relations between our countries, and call you Engwand," he reiterated; the last word was almost inaudible, mumbled as Alfred shifted uncomfortably, but England grinned nonetheless. He scrutinized the contract, seeing if America was trying to slip anything past him, like barring him from saying anything sarcastic, or heaven forbid, cooking. Nothing.

"I'll sign it, but don't expect another present," he said, mostly because he didn't have another to give. Alfred nodded, patting England's back with passive aggressive fervor.

"It's getting late, get some sleep," Alfred told him, and England did feel the weariness finally reach him. He signaled for Tony to follow him out, leaving England alone. Lying on the bed, he let himself get comfortable, thinking of the small note tacked onto the document.

_You're my brother. There may be times when I deny it, or tease you mercilessly, but you are. I cannot offer you blind affection anymore, but I cannot hate you either. _

_ Love America (in a totally manly way)_

"You mean he was all small and cute, and I missed it," Finland complained in the mist of the party taking place. America and Tony had powered through setting up the decorations last night, hoping no one would notice their shabby placement . (No one did. They were too busy gossiping.) Much to America's chagrin, France texting Spain and Canada hadn't been an isolated incident. Once news reached France America was big again, he mass texted everyone.

"Don't worry. We know people who can change him back," Sweden comforted Finland who pouted. He never had the chance to get to know the boy when he was younger with all the others fighting much more viciously for him. Mr. Netherlands also looked a bit miffed to have missed out. Alfred became more and more embarrassed with each passing comment. It's his birthday after all and many openly regretted not whisking him away. At least England wasn't making things worse. Arthur attempted to eat the cake while avoiding the icing altogether. (Japan had spread a rumor that America's cakes were toxic, just because it could glow in the dark. Silly Japan.)

"Please don't," This seemed to dissuade Sweden, or America assumed so as he nodded and ate another piece of his cake. He couldn't read Sweden that well from his constant serious demeanor and slurred words. Finland became occupied by an email, presumably from France with more incriminating photos. Luckily, not all of them were fawning over his newly acquired baby pictures, while Liechtenstein peeked curiously at the pictures France showed, Switzerland took full advantage of the free food, somewhat awkwardly chatting with Austria and Hungary. The Baltic states were enjoying their new found freedom from Russia's watchful gaze as the country chuckled at a few of the photos. America paled as he remembered dressing as an Indian at one point, but he didn't dare look. Germany gave him a sympathetic gaze as Italy attempted to get past the eight-inch height barrier between them and show him the photos. Turning away from the overall chaos, he ventured further into the multitudes of people to be with four in particular. Feeling an impending sense of doom, he came over to China. (Very aware, he had good reasons to be nice to China.) He looked cross as he talked with England, France and Spain. Romano glared at Alfred who was next to Spain. He did not want to comprehend the reasons why although he had some clue from his brief encounter with Spain.

"Leave America alone, I need him to actually be able to work off his debt, you know" China defended him while still making him feel less than comfortable.

"Aw, come on Yao, you know I'm good for it," America attempted to redirect the conversation, but apparently, the other nations weren't having it.

"He used to be so cute," France muttered in solemn mourning. Accustomed to France saying this, America took a sip of cola. He didn't get what was so unappealing about him now. He still had the same features as before. America took comfort in the fact that France had at least contacted Matthew and helped him get out of the situation. Spain busied himself trying to get Romano in a better mood. England ate the last piece of actual bread from the cake and bothered answering.

"Lay off, he's not technically the one who owes you money, his country does," England and China scowled at each other.

"I know, but it is my job to pester him about it," Yao said, not pushing further as he noted England's fairly civil response. Spain unable to sense the mood, joined in as Romano went from an angry to a passive aggressive mood.

" Ah yes, our jobs can seem a bit frivolous at times no? But hey, isn't wonderful to share in the good times although it would be much better with a little Alfred and quesadillas like my little sister makes instead," Spain chattered away, and America was ready to go find Japan who unfortunately, got sucked into the commotion coming in.

"No," England said, attempting to drink the coke but ultimately deciding against it. Alfred was amused by this, amazing what a few rumors about toxicity can do. They stared at him incredulously.

"You started the whole thing no?" France said testily, very much annoyed by England's often irrational change of hearts. England forced a sip and found it to not be as toxic as he would have thought, taking another. England made himself look France in the eye. Alfred watched, not holding his breath, thinking England wouldn't out right apologize.

"Yes, but he's done more than I ever would have dreamed. I'm proud of him," Arthur almost said something else but left it at that when Japan found them. America grinned and greeted Japan grateful that he had added an Omamori amulet for his own protection along with another of his high tech gadgets. (He hadn't seen him in a while, and he appreciated the sentiment.) America did find England later as they all headed out to the fireworks display nearby. They diverted from the group until they were far enough away not to be over heard. A few of them stared curiously at that but Alfred reassured them that they would be there before the fireworks started.

"Thank you England," America said in a way that wasn't at all sarcastic as it had been lately. England had his hands in his pockets, holding onto his cordial mannered self as he looked at one of America's more lavish homes.

"I did promise to start treating you more like an adult," he said quietly. Alfred embraced him, circling him with his massive arms, and for once, England chose not to fret about it, nor dream of days past, but hugged back with genuine British affection.


End file.
